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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430960">let's call it a tie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote'>leaveanote</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Wrestling Statue (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time Together, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Porn, Post-Canon, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex, Wrestling, god they love each other so much, ”wrestling” should I say</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:00:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They're still just friends, moving into the South Downs together about a year after the world didn’t end. Crowley wants to decorate the cottage with some of his collected items. Aziraphale says he can keep the statue of the winged figures "wrestling" on display...if Crowley can beat him in a friendly wrestling match.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love, To The World - Good Omens Anniversary Exchange, Top Aziraphale Recs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>let's call it a tie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/gifts">triedunture</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a gift, and it was a JOY of a prompt to fill for one of my absolute favorite writers out there. What brilliance!! I hope I did this excellent idea something like justice &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair, </span>
  </em>
  <span>angel, not when you’ve had me bring the </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire </span>
  </em>
  <span>bookshop to kip in the backyard—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I’d be in charge of decorating when we decided to come out here, didn’t I, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>agreed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley groans, snapping the throw blanket over the sofa with a bit more vigor than strictly necessary. Aziraphale flashes the blanket a pointed look and it rearranges itself evenly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth is, Crowley’d live on the bloody moon and never see any of his possessions again if it meant Aziraphale sharing quarters with him for the foreseeable future, despite the fact that he can’t shake the nagging feeling that moving in with the creature he’s been desperately, secretly, horns over tail, written-in-your-very-bones in love with for six thousand odd years might be more of an act of self-flagellation than anything else, and one of the most painful ones he could have opted for. Whatever, he’ll take it. He’ll get as close as he can and be grateful, and this is as good as it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>been. Crossing another line, a new measure to the Arrangement. If love and romance are off the table, at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>mortal enemy
  </span></em>’s gone too. He can live with “roommate.” Probably. 
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Crowley has (or, he likes to believe he has) a </span>
  <em>
    <span>modicum </span>
  </em>
  <span>of dignity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cottage is already shaping up to be a somewhat fair blend of them both. Leather couches draped in blankets, towering, dusty bookshelves (quite apart from the bookshop Aziraphale had indeed made Crowley bring in completion and transplant into the yard), a few of Crowley’s most prized works of art and a veritable greenhouse’s worth of his plants, some of which are staying in the sitting room but most of which Crowley’s looking forward to scolding out in the sprawling garden patch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this most recent proposed compromise, though, he’s going to have to draw the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or at least, get the quill out and try, as it were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not least because it’s fun to get Aziraphale persistent, his feathers all fluffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>why, </span>
  </em>
  <span>angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s absurd,” Aziraphale says primly, peering at Crowley over his glasses and moving to the next box of scrolls to unpack. “If we are to be sharing a home—” here Crowley’s hearing goes slightly fuzzy and he bites back what would be a very goofy grin, because even though it’s actually, physically </span>
  <em>
    <span>happening, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he still can’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that it’s happening “—I shouldn’t be subjected to a ridiculous statue of—what was it you call it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good and evil wrestling, with evil triumphing,” Crowley recites for the nth time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Aziraphale sighs. “Honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your problem with it, anyway?” Crowley slinks up behind Aziraphale, tilting his head to hiss in the other’s ear. “Offends your angelic</span>
  <em>
    <span> ssenssibilities</span>
  </em>
  <span> to share a cottage with a sacrilegious sculpture?” Crowley can’t help but wheedle, even if he does immediately feel a pang of regret at reminding Aziraphale of his choice to turn quite away from Heaven—not only in the face of Armageddon, but again, quite a bit more intimately, by choosing to cohabitate with the serpent of Eden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before Crowley can really berate himself, Aziraphale gives a snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hardly, my dear,” he says, something like stern disdain in his voice. That tone goes </span>
  <em>
    <span>directly </span>
  </em>
  <span>between Crowley’s legs, and he steps away in a hurry, hoping beyond hope Aziraphale doesn’t catch a whiff of the wet arousal that’s just pooled there. The angel never seems to, but here in such close quarters—Crowley gulps. Aziraphale, however, continues quite as if he hasn’t noticed anything. “It’s just that there’s not a chance of </span>
  <em>
    <span>evil</span>
  </em>
  <span> triumphing in such a situation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re referring to some sort of moral code, might I remind you what just went down at the airbase—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean a wrestling match.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s jaw drops. Aziraphale’s staring at him over his glasses, a mischievous little smile playing at his mouth, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>bugger </span>
  </em>
  <span>all, Crowley’s in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got to be joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think I could best you, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re better than me at nearly everything,” Crowley says, automatic but sincere, and Aziraphale’s grin falters slightly before he hikes it back up, “but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>occult powers would have you beat there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t put yourself down like that, dear,” Aziraphale murmurs, his voice soft, and Crowley gulps again. His heart is doing a sort of terrible gavotte against his chest. “But I reassure you, you oughtn’t underestimate me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Crowley reassures him. They return to the boxes and books for just a moment, just long enough for Crowley to imagine the conversation’s passed and he’ll have to broach the idea of bringing the statue to the cottage again later, perhaps with fresh pastries in hand, when Aziraphale clears his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t I make it...obvious for you?” he says, a not unfamiliar edge of playful coyness to his voice that Crowley likes </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What d’you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrestle me,” Aziraphale says, with the air of asking Crowley to tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley chokes. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>on </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything really, his tongue or some spit perhaps, but likely just air and the thought of what that would </span>
  <em>
    <span>entail. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Angel.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you honestly think the circumstances of your statue are a real possibility,” Aziraphale keeps on in that same light tone of voice, “well, my dear.” He arches an eyebrow. “Prove it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh—ngk,” Crowley sputters, wholly aware of his obvious lack of eloquence and casting about for the hope that Aziraphale perceives it to be simply in response to the absurdity of the proposition and nothing to do with the implications it has on the proximity of their bodies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you win,” Aziraphale sighs prettily, “I’ll let you display the blasted thing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the library, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Let</span>
  </em>
  <span> me—” Crowley protests, on instinct, though of course Aziraphale’s not wrong that Crowley wouldn’t push it if the angel really minded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if you lose,” Aziraphale continues, “you leave it behind in London.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Crowley knows why he’s really kept that statue this long. Doesn’t let himself think about it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>too embarrassing, but he lets it creep in, almost subconsciously, when he’s home alone and clutching himself in a helpless fury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This can’t be a good idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In no way is it a good idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” Crowley tries, with an attempt at cockiness. It’s a Hail Mary if there ever was one, and the angel knows it. Aziraphale snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Believe me, dear. You won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s how they end up in the sitting room of their new cottage, bathed in the waning sunlight warming through windows, the sofa and boxes shunted aside for a freshly miracled mat. Crowley’s in his v-neck and jeans, Aziraphale looking nearly naked with jacket off, his sleeves rolled to the elbow. Both of them opt to remove the things about their necks, and Crowley feels strangely vulnerable without his usual tie and chain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can still back down,” he tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a chance, my dear boy,” Aziraphale grins, “Not if you’d like to keep your statue. Now, let’s keep this simple. A five second pin has it, best out of three?” He flexes his fingers, and it’s like a bolt of heat spears Crowley right in the belly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those fingers are going to be on him in a moment, Crowley realizes in a wild sort of panic. Everything seems to be happening quite quickly, millennia of pining followed by several terrifying ordeals, they’ve moved into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cottage </span>
  </em>
  <span>together—and now this? Hands brushing over the gravy boat, maybe one day next summer Aziraphale reaching over to tuck a curl behind his ear—</span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of thing he’d anticipated! Crowley’s clung to his secret desire for so long he feels adrift now that it’s so close to the surface, like he’s suddenly being buoyed along by a force outside himself. Something he can’t bring himself yet to name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Works for me,” Crowley manages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing too brutal, please, no explicitly occult or ethereal invocations, or hair pulling,” Aziraphale goes on, seeming to be very enjoying himself, “and do stay above the belt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley raises an eyebrow at that, trying to ignore the squirming hunger that’s threatening to rise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, it would perhaps be more prudent to get rid of it entirely,” Aziraphale glances at his crotch, “but I’m rather fond of how it’s suiting me at the moment, so try not to bruise it, all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thousand thoughts catapult round in Crowley’s brain, each more vulgar and desperate than the last, but he manages to crook a corner of his mouth in a smile, crack his spine snakily, and merely say:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll keep that in mind, angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, above the belt </span>
  <em>
    <span>line</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at least,” Aziraphale amends, as he seems to register he himself isn’t wearing one. And then he undoes one clasp of his suspenders, then the next, and Crowley swallows hard just so his mouth doesn’t water. Aziraphale hasn’t even really gotten any more undressed and yet the squirming hunger in Crowley threatens to rise like he’s some sort of touch-starved Victorian. “Get yours off, if you please, dear. Don’t fancy getting gouged with any metal bits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing metal in Crowley’s belt, being a manifestation of his own shed skin, but he doesn’t argue the point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you insist,” he drawls. He thumbs open the latch, drags his belt out through the loops of his trousers, tosses it aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something flashes across Aziraphale’s face as his eyes dart to Crowley’s waist, something Crowley thinks with a jolt that he might recognize. But before he allows himself so much as a painful glimmer of hope, it’s gone, the angel’s expression settling into cheeky competitiveness as he crouches to a wrestler’s stance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well, then. Let’s begin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And without so much as a countdown or a by your leave, Aziraphale lunges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley barely has time to sputter before the floor crashes up to meet his back, the mat hardly serving to soften it. Aziraphale’s hands are on his shoulders and it only takes a few maneuvers against Crowley’s struggling form before the angel’s straddling his waist, pinning Crowley’s wrists to the floorboards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha,” Aziraphale says mildly. His nostrils flare with the merest exertion, and he’s grinning outright now. “One, two—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wreck of spine-shimmering arousal battles with Crowley’s wretched pride. He’s not sure which it is that wins out, but whatever it is summons strength to his muscles. He wraps his legs around Aziraphale’s waist and tugs the angel’s body against his own, knocking him off-balance enough for Crowley to roll on top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha </span>
  <em>
    <span>ha,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley smirks. “One, two—nope!” he pants, shifting back to sit on those well-trousered thighs, thwarting Aziraphale’s attempt to pull the same trick on him. “Three, four, </span>
  <em>
    <span>five. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s one for me, angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects Aziraphale to look put out, disgruntled at least, but instead he digs his teeth into his bottom lip and smiles broadly, and Crowley, in a sort of mess of horror and helpless desire, feels another pulse of wetness gather at his cunt, just where it’s rubbed against Aziraphale’s fly through his trousers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good,” Aziraphale purrs, and Crowley can’t stop himself from shivering. He hardly has enough time to register that this was, indeed, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>awful idea in regards to their continued friendship and cohabitation, before Aziraphale pushes him off and performs a sort of complicated roll that slams Crowley’s knees into the floor so he can scramble around, get his arms through, and wrench Crowley into an honest-to-someone half-Nelson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’d you learn </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley chokes out from beneath Aziraphale’s arm, his forehead squashed into the mat. He kicks his feet against the mat, but it’s no use—especially not with the hot, panting weight of the angel pressed into his side, his bare forearm pressed to the back of Crowley’s throat. Crowley’s certain his briefs are soaked through now, and he bites his lip, pushing up on the angel’s grip in something approaching real panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remembered a few thwarts I’d been taught, you know,” Aziraphale says, his voice low and sly. Crowley can </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>the grin in it, bless it all. “Glad I can put them to something like use.” He makes a show of sighing while Crowley flails beneath his grip, the demon trying to not confront the fact that he’s not really trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard to get out from under him. “Now, then. I didn’t even count, but we can call this five, can’t we, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, fine, just—get </span>
  <em>
    <span>off </span>
  </em>
  <span>me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last bit comes out far too vehement, ragged with tamped-down want. Aziraphale releases him at once, looking for the first time since they begun, slightly abashed. Crowley regrets it immediately, a wreck of helpless arousal and demonstrative shame and quite alarmed at both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—sorry,” he says at once, and has to stop himself from reaching up to cup the angel’s cheek. Anything, anything to stop him pouting. Through his haze, Crowley hitches his smirk back up. In that, at least, he’s well-practised. He flexes his fingers, cracks his neck, pushes himself to standing. “All right, then. Tie-breaker, is it?” He reaches a hand out to help Aziraphale up, and is very relieved to see a smile beginning again on that sweet face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tie-breaker it is,” Aziraphale agrees. He takes Crowley’s hand—and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrenches </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to the floor with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley only has a moment to be aghast before Aziraphale’s behind him </span>
  <em>
    <span>again. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This time, he gets one knee between Crowley’s and a shoulder in his spine, wrenching Crowley’s wrist back to knock him off balance, and then Crowley realizes three things in very quick sequence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One: this pose is embarrassingly similar to that of the statue in question, except the places are reversed and he’s the one being triumphed over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two: he is well and truly about to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Three: there is no mistaking what he feels pressing into his ass right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A searing, split second passes in which Crowley doesn’t know what to do, about any of them. He experiences a sort of cataclysm of euphoria and confusion at once, followed abruptly by self-doubt—it can’t be, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s got to just be friction or hormones (they don’t have hormones) or—or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it must—but then Aziraphale comes to the same realization, likely as Crowley has </span>
  <em>
    <span>utterly </span>
  </em>
  <span>stopped struggling, and freezes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t pull away. He’s as still as the statue that they’re wrestling over, save for his shuddering breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel?” Crowley asks. Softly, carefully. Letting him know it’s okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck.” Aziraphale swears and starts to scramble off him, as if Crowley speaking broke a spell, and reality crashes in from all sides. “Oh, Crowley—I am so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry—that—</span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely </span>
  </em>
  <span>inappropriate of me, I really—I’m—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as Aziraphale sinks into panic, Crowley suddenly feels calmer than he perhaps ever has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not an accident, then. Not just friction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s really, really true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel,” he says again, more insistently this time. He turns over to reach for Aziraphale’s hand, and draws his breath sharply through his teeth at Aziraphale’s terrified face. It’s clutched in the same expression of longing and anxiety Crowley knows so well in himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last of the sunlight is brilliant on the cottage floor, burning a deep, rich gold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re here, in the home they’re making together, in the world that the two of them saved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leans up with a question in his eyes, and in Aziraphale’s, wondrously, he finds his answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tilts his chin up, his useless heartbeat thundering in his chest, and he’s nearly worked up the courage to close the space between their mouths at last—and then Aziraphale’s kissing him hard enough to bruise. Kissing him messy and hungry and damp, his hands coming to clench in Crowley’s hair, pushing his body into Crowley’s so forcefully it knocks him onto his back on the mat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh—my dear, I hope this is all right—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have never,” Crowley growls between kisses, his arms going round Aziraphale’s lovely waist, “wanted anything more in my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, and he smiles a smile so like his usual smile for Crowley, but this one’s brighter somehow, deeper, like it sinks into his very essence, and Crowley feels like he’s soaring. It is this that encourages him to say what he says next—that and the fact that it’s always there, on the tip of his lips, bitten back and aching to spill over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that. A shift of sound in the air, and nothing needs to be the same. Aziraphale beams, kissing him over and over, all over his face and his throat, telling him the same, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” and this could last ten minutes or a decade, Crowley doesn’t know, doesn’t care, as they tangle in the easy relief of kisses and murmur those simple, lifechanging words to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale kisses him and kisses him, and Crowley feels the angel’s erection pressing needy against his hip, and can’t hold back anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” he asks, ghosting his fingers over the zip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>dear,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale nods, his breath stuttering on the words. He’s kiss-flushed, his hair tousled where Crowley’s been tugging at it, and when his trousers and pants are around his ankles, Crowley can hardly keep from trembling. He’d need a moment to catch his own breath if it wasn’t for just how desperate Aziraphale looks, his thick, spectacular cock wet and throbbing between his stretchmarked thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are so beautiful,” Crowley tells him, pressing him to lie back on the mat. “I don’t think there are words for it, angel, for how ridiculously stunning you are. Think I’m gonna have to make some up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs softly, a hint of a pleased, preening smile at his mouth. Crowley brushes a kiss there before kneeling to do what he’s wanted to do for an age, and wrapping his lips around Aziraphale’s erection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s sheer fucking bliss, not only the simple sensation of it at last and Aziraphale’s gratifying gasp, but the salt of him on Crowley’s tongue, the sheen of sweat, the spill from where he’d soaked himself in precome. Crowley presses his tongue against the smooth length of him, grips his base, and takes him deep until Crowley’s burying his nose in the rough, dark-gold hair that trails from his stomach to his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley makes himself slow down as Aziraphale jerks beneath him, breathing deep, trying to savour him. He pulls off and takes Aziraphale’s bollocks in his mouth, sucking on them, watching the angel arch his back off the mat, his wet erection bobbing against his plush stomach. He brings his knuckle to stroke Aziraphale’s perineum, and Aziraphale keens and bears down against his touch. Crowley presses lightly on his hole, not planning on going any further without instruction and a good deal of lube, and Aziraphale squirms delightedly at just this bit of pressure against his rim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> good, darling, oh dear, oh—oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he moans, and reaches down to tug at Crowley’s hair. Crowley twitches, his untouched cunt pulsing sloppy with slick and want. “I—I’m not going to last—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley growls hungrily. He licks a hot, slow stripe from base to tip, presses a kiss to the head of Aziraphale’s cock, and lets his lips part to take him to the hilt again, and Aziraphale cries out. His hand scrabbles for Crowley’s and Crowley takes it, squeezes it. He wraps his other hand around Aziraphale’s base and thrusts his mouth down hard around him, swallowing the spilling saltbitter of him, every last bit of his hot pulses of come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his mouth around Aziraphale until he feels him tug on his hand. He pulls off and looks up at last, and then feels his face spreading into an enormous smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh gosh, angel. Look at you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale opens his arms and Crowley settles into them. The angel’s shirt’s all crumpled, his face and throat pink and blotchy, and he’s smiling so sweetly satisfied Crowley can hardly stand it. Aziraphale cups his head and pulls him into a soft kiss, and Crowley hums contentedly into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gorgeous always, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>angel,” Crowley says, caressing his soft cheek, “I could get used to this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d better,” Aziraphale says at once, his voice hoarse, and they both give a slight laugh. “Oh, sweetheart,” Aziraphale says, kissing his brow. “I love you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley burrows into him, impossibly, overwhelmingly pleased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too.” The words still feel forbidden in his mouth, but less so, with Aziraphale wrapped around him, the taste of him still on his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that I’m complaining as to how we got here, my love,” Aziraphale says at last, “but I’m still a bit mortified. Wrestling was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea after all, and it’s not like you were suffering the same state from it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nearly chokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ngk—</span>
  <em>
    <span>angel. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I was.” His face goes hot. “I mean, I am.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand and guides it between his legs, where he’s actually damp through his trousers at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, realization dawning. “Oh, I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fool—”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley says, as firmly as he can manage. Aziraphale hasn’t taken his hand away, and it’s become </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard to speak anything coherent. “You couldn’t have known, I change it up whenever I like anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I do,” Aziraphale says. He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and starts to rub at Crowley through the seam. “Oh, goodness. So you’ve been in quite the same state for just as long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Crowley whispers, trying to be cool and not at all as absolutely bloody thirsty about it as he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you poor thing,” Aziraphale murmurs. A sort of wicked smile is blossoming on his face, and it sends a thrill through Crowley’s spine. “May I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Crowley repeats, willing himself not to tremble. But then Aziraphale removes his clothes so carefully, one item at a time, and looks at his naked body with such utter—utter </span>
  <em>
    <span>reverence, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley can’t help but shake as he curls into Aziraphale’s body, there on the mat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lay side by side and Aziraphale hooks Crowley’s long leg around his own waist, parting his thighs for him, and then he slips his hand between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both gasp, Crowley’s a breathy, wretched thing, he’d been so wet and so untouched for so </span>
  <em>
    <span>long, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Aziraphale’s fingers are thick and warm and sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me how you like it, my dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley hears Aziraphale say this, but he’s already wordless, already caught on the brink. Aziraphale caresses his outer labia with two fingers, then slips to spread his inner lips, where he’s slippery and hot, and Crowley’s shaking all over, grateful Aziraphale’s body is there to keep his legs spread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You feel incredible,” Aziraphale murmurs, and brushes his fingertip over Crowley’s clitoral hood. Crowley’s hips jerk, and all he can do is nod. “Like this?” Aziraphale asks, his breath warm on Crowley’s mouth. Crowley nods again and he can fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale smiling, his eyes slammed shut, his breath coming rough. Aziraphale circles his clit with two gentle, steady fingertips, just barely enough pressure to do more than tease. “How beautiful you are, my dear. Oh, I love how wet your cunt is for me.” He dusts a kiss across Crowley’s panting mouth. “I can’t wait to taste it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Angel!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley comes with a wail that fills the sitting room, clenching his thighs around Aziraphale, his cunt gushing over the fingers that rub at him ceaselessly. Long-buried pleasure courses through his body, all heat and love and release, and he’s scattered and shaking and Aziraphale holds him down, caressing his throbbing clit as he comes a second time, twitching and jerking his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetheart.” Aziraphale brushes Crowley’s hair back, presses a kiss to his sweaty brow, and even in the shimmering glow of the aftermath, Crowley feels another warm rush of love at the endearment. “Oh, Crowley, how lovely you are. Come here.” He reaches beneath Crowley and lifts him as if he weighs next to nothing—</span>
  <em>
    <span>bridal style,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley thinks wildly—and carries him to the bedroom. It’s not their first day in the cottage, but a threshold has indeed been crossed, and Crowley’s quite delighted at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loops his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p><span>“Show-off,” he grumbles, nuzzling Aziraphale’s soft throat. “I get it, all right, yes, you’re </span><em><span>very</span></em> <em><span>sstrong.”</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“I’ll show you strong,” Aziraphale says, easy as anything, and throws him on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his big words, Aziraphale is quite careful as he shucks the last of his clothes and climbs onto the bed with him. Still shaking as he is, Crowley can feel his cunt throb again at the sight of Aziraphale fully naked with him. It’s actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>bed, brought from the flat, as Aziraphale had never bothered with one in Soho, and Aziraphale undressed in it, here in their cottage, makes Crowley squirm with arousal again—that, and how the angel’s licking his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Aziraphale tells him, his eyes bright, his expression utterly enamored. He traces his hands over Crowley’s figure, his arms, his chest, his hips, his thighs, reveling in it, and Crowley basks in his love and the heat of his touch. “I love you, I love you,” Aziraphale murmurs, brushing kisses against Crowley’s throat, and he arches his back, squirming again for Aziraphale’s touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel,” he says, and he doesn’t mean it to sound as insistent as it does, but then Aziraphale presses their bodies together and licks a very deliberate stripe along his jaw, and Crowley can’t resist anymore. “Angel, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please—</span>
  </em>
  <span>I—hell, I know I’ve just come and I don’t think I’ve ever needed it this badly, I just—</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Aziraphale says, earnest enough that Crowley believes him. “I’m the same, love, this feels too good.” He shakes his head, kissing his way down Crowley’s torso, and as he kneels on the bed Crowley realizes with a moan that he’s hard again. “It feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Crowley agrees, and then Aziraphale’s parting his legs, his sweet breath hovering hot over Crowley’s cunt. He’s messy, he knows. He’s sweaty, his come has dried in the hair between his legs and he’s gone slick again anew, and Crowley bites his lip but then Aziraphale inhales deeply, massaging Crowley’s hips, and makes the most lush, delighted sound of anticipation and Crowley relaxes in his touch. “Yes,” he says again. “Yes, yes—ah—</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale traces the tip of his tongue from Crowley’s dripping entrance up to his clit. It’s such a gentle, intimate sensation, and Crowley feels himself get even wetter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stretches his arms up to clutch at the pillow, his chest heaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just—just go slow, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs, nuzzling a kiss into the depths of Crowley’s folds. “I quite plan on taking my time with you. Several times.” He looks up, and Crowley watches, breath caught in his throat, as Aziraphale spreads his labia with his fingers. “Several thousand times,” he says, and licks Crowley hard and torturously slow with the flat of his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley melts, sinking into the mattress, into his touch, a strangled sort of sigh wrenching from his throat. Aziraphale’s tongue is hot and strong, his lips so soft, and he responds to every shift of Crowley’s body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a lush, lovely cunt you have, Crowley,” Aziraphale croons, between the clever workings of his mouth upon it. “Suits you, the most handsome creature there ever was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tha’s you,” Crowley manages, but only just, the words dissolving as Aziraphale nuzzles deeper into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He curls his tongue into Crowley’s entrance, licking up the slick gathered there. He presses harder, hungrier, and makes a sound Crowley knows so, so well—the delighted sort of moan Aziraphale always makes when he’s eating something he loves the taste of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shivers, whimpering, as Aziraphale laps at him. He wraps his lips around Crowley’s clit and gently sucks a steady pulse as his fingers come to play at Crowley’s slick labia, caressing and lightly tugging in turn. Spreading him, flicking his tongue against Crowley’s opening, savouring the spill of him there. He gives such focused, mindful attention, nudging into his core with wet pressure until every nerve ending in Crowley’s body shimmers sweetly, before he brings his lips back to Crowley’s clit and circles Crowley’s entrance with his fingertip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley arches his back helplessly, his body lighting up at the touch, clenching at nothing as Aziraphale swirls his tongue around Crowley’s clit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fffuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> oh fuck, oh hell, oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>please—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you enjoy penetration, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, nearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, hardly raising his mouth. “I’m fond of it, either way, but of course if you’d rather—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Crowley gasps, and he’s hardly gotten the word out before Aziraphale presses two thick fingers all the way inside him and he cries out. “Yes, just like that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There we are,” Aziraphale murmurs, curling his fingers up, massaging Crowley’s g-spot and filling him as he’s been aching for it, deep enough to send waves of glorious pleasure careening through him. “Oh, Crowley, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crowley.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s fingers are inside him, and after another loving mumble of his name Aziraphale returns his lips to Crowley’s clit, kissing him, licking him, and then he brings his other hand up to press his thumb gently at Crowley’s asshole and Crowley’s coming yet again, clenching tight around Aziraphale’s hand, crying out something wordless as his body spasms with another crash of pleasure, and he’s so aware of Aziraphale’s mouth on his cunt as he spills over, and Aziraphale’s moaning in utter, unmistakable delight as he licks Crowley through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” Crowley says, shuddering, when he can speak at last. Aziraphale pulls out of him carefully, watching him shudder, and brings his own soaked fingers to his mouth to suck. “Oh fuck,” Crowley says again, taking in the sight of Aziraphale’s full erection, shiny again with precome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my dear, we don’t have to—mmph.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pulls him down to the bed and crushes his mouth in a kiss as he straddles him, rocking his sensitive clit against the column of Aziraphale’s cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to fuck me?” Crowley asks, grinding down on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I do,” Aziraphale breathes, taking Crowley’s lower lip between his teeth and gently biting, one hand tangled in Crowley’s hair, the other cupping his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me, angel. Tell me what you’d like.” In his frantic, fucked-out, lovestruck brain, Crowley knows he can do this, he’s used to this. Aziraphale wants, and Crowley will indulge. He’s not used to being taken care of, not like Aziraphale’s taking care of him today, but this he can do. The barriers are blurring, smudging together</span>
  <em>
    <span>—what you want, what I want to do with you—</span>
  </em>
  <span>and it will take some getting used to, but fuck, if it feels like this—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to fuck you, Crowley. I want to be inside you, I want to give you my cock, I want to watch you take it, and I want to make you come again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Angel.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how handsome you are? Can’t keep my hands off you. And when you come, Crowley, my goodness, I’ve never seen anything so intoxicating—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, angel,” Crowley chants, rocking back and forth, rubbing his clit along Aziraphale’s cock. He’s wet again, still damp from Aziraphale’s mouth and dripping slick down Aziraphale’s body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you taste,” Aziraphale says, seizing Crowey’s hips, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>infernally</span>
  </em>
  <span> good.” He says it with a smirk, the bastard he is, because he means it, in every way, he means Crowley is infernal and he is good, and he means he really likes eating him out, and Crowley is such a mess of overwhelming love for him, and then, his face serious now, he lifts Crowley up and pulls him down onto his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so fucking thick, and Crowley’s so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>full, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his mouth fallen open and his eyes slammed shut in ecstasy, his cunt pulsing around the heft of Aziraphale pressed inside him and all he can do is nod as fervently as he can, and manage one, bitten-off word.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> every bit of you,” Aziraphale groans, rolling his hips, “every bit of you feels this good, doesn’t it, my darling, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>love. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I want to give you everything. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Crowley growls. He blinks back the stars in his eyes, plants his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, and starts to move. “Don’t—ah!—don’t want you getting enough. Just want to make love to you over and over and over and—</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale holds him down on his lap and fucks a hard rhythm up into him, their chests hot together, Crowley burying his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going anywhere, Crowley. I’m yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>yours,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley chants back, mouthing the words into Aziraphale’s sweaty skin, “’m yours, ‘m yours, I’m—</span>
  <em>
    <span>ffuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>we’re good together,” he moans, his voice breaking. “Angel, angel—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re very, very good together.” Aziraphale tugs Crowley’s chin, and kisses him so gently on the mouth, full of sweet wonder even as he’s fucking him so good and deep, and Crowley trembles in his arms. He clutches Aziraphale, wrapping his limbs around him, giving himself over to the shattering triumph of the sensation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale breaks the kiss to murmur into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On your knees.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gives him another little kiss before swatting gently at the cheek of his ass, nudging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on.” He’s smiling, but his voice is low, as rough as Crowley’s ever heard it, and Crowley’s cunt gives a hot, needful throb at the sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gets on all fours. Hitches his hips in the air, spreads his thighs, and waits, a blur of fervent want, both flushing pink at the position, and trusting Aziraphale with everything he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” Aziraphale hums appreciatively, kneeling on the bed beside him. He traces the curves of Crowley’s throat, his back, his ass, his thighs, every moment of his delicate touch setting Crowley even more on fire. “Exquisite,” Aziraphale murmurs, and spreads Crowley’s cheeks apart with his thumbs. He squeezes, sighing contentedly, and Crowley can hear the smile in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, and it’s half a whine and wholly adoration. It feels...</span>
  <em>
    <span>incredible </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be wanted like this. To be vulnerable like this, and feel safe, and desired, and cared for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a good boy,” Aziraphale says, his voice that same rumble, and he traces his fingertip lightly from Crowley’s clit up to his asshole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tries not to buck his hips but he can’t help it, a frustrated groan escaping him at the delicacy of the touch. Aziraphale gives a low chuckle and does it again, teasing, playing in his slick, watching his holes clench and holding him steady. Crowley’s dripping again, so wet he can hardly keep himself upright, trying not to rub his thighs together as Aziraphale toys with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you want me to beg, is that it?” Crowley gasps at last, through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to love you, in every way you’ll have me, always,” Aziraphale says, and presses up against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Crowley says, his voice hardly more than a whisper, and then Aziraphale pushes in, inch by inch, until Crowley’s filled with the encompassing heat and glorious pressure of him. “Oh,” he says again, as Aziraphale starts to move, “oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck</span>
  <em>
    <span>, yes.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There we are,” Aziraphale says, bending to cover Crowley’s body with his own, his breath hot on the back of Crowley’s neck, “that’s it. I’ve got you.” His strokes are long and deep and sure, and Crowley’s knees nearly buckle, pressing up against the mattress to keep from falling into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel,” he says, his throat hoarse, the word clipped as Aziraphale fucks hard into him, sensuously slow but as deep as he can, his balls teasing Crowley’s clit on each stroke. “I’m—I’m—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Close again, love?” Aziraphale quickens his pace just enough to make Crowley feel himself clench around him, his body tightening, shuddering in anticipation, his cunt so slick around Aziraphale’s cock, and the angel brushes a kiss to his shoulderblade. “You know,” Aziraphale says, and through his fucked-out haze, Crowley can hear a slight, self-satisfied smirk in his breathless voice, “it shouldn’t surprise me you like this position. Not unfamiliar, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the moment before it registers, Aziraphale takes Crowley’s wrist and gently but firmly wrenches it back, leveraging Crowley’s weight into his palm and his knees and fucking even deeper into his cunt at the new angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall I get my wings out to complete the picture, dear?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” Crowley says. They’re in almost the exact damned position as before, as the damned statue that </span>
  <em>
    <span>started </span>
  </em>
  <span>this, only Crowley’s not the one </span>
  <em>
    <span>triumphing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>except, upon this realization, with pleasure and love coursing through his entire being, he really is. “Oh fuck, oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he moans, and Aziraphale releases his wrist to move his hand to Crowley’s clit, instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can keep the statue, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, through a slight, breathless, beautiful laugh, and he rubs Crowley’s clit with his thick, sure fingers and fucks him so deep and so sweetly, and Crowley comes, impossibly, harder than he has all day, crying out and thrashing at the whirlwind of pleasure, Aziraphale’s body pressed against him and full inside him and Aziraphale’s love everywhere, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and just at the downward edge of his sharp, spiraling, ecstasy he feels Aziraphale spill inside him, hot, rushing pulses of come filling him up, and Aziraphale stammers his name again and again, jerking his hips unevenly, and Crowley finds his own pleasure stretching on and outward as Aziraphale comes, receiving him like a fucking sacrament. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel,” Crowley says, shakily, at last. It feels like it might be days later. It feels like a new world, a dream, but it’s true, and in the languishing blur of the aftermath, Crowley clings to the facts of it: the heft of Aziraphale’s body on his, the smell of sex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my love,” Aziraphale murmurs. He slips his softening cock free and even though Crowley’s thoroughly sated, he still feels a pang of loss. “Oh, look at you,” Aziraphale breathes, sitting back on the bed, and Crowley feels a fresh pulse of arousal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good fucking Satan, angel,” he groans weakly, stretching his limbs, his back. “I’m so fucking satisfied but I still can’t get enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, my dear.” Aziraphale kisses his cheek, then moves to kneel behind him on the bed. “We really ought to get some rest.” He skims his fingertip over Crowley’s spread labia, his sensitive hole, and Crowley whines. He  feels himself get wet again, and he knows Aziraphale sees it, feels it. “We can pick up again tomorrow, I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Crowley breathes, his eyes drifted closed again, shifting his hips so Aziraphale’s finger catches the wet opening of his cunt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, if you’d just like me to tidy up a bit. I really did make such a mess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Crowley says, too quickly but he’s too much of a wreck to be embarrassed, and then Aziraphale’s tongue is on him, feather-light and eager, and Crowley </span>
  <em>
    <span>sobs. “Yes! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh ffuck, fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>angel, Aziraphale—you feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You feel so, so—</span>
  <em>
    <span>ohh.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the lightest, sweetest sensation, and Aziraphale’s gotten him off again and again all day but this feels new still. He’s so oversensitive in the aftermath of his deep, thorough fucking, that this different technique sends him careening into fresh realms of pleasure. Aziraphale eats him out like a delicacy from behind, lapping appreciatively at the mingling of Crowley’s slick and his own come in Crowley’s pussy, running his fingers up and over his labia with one hand, rubbing ever so lightly at his clit with the tip of his index finger with the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Presently he pulls back just a bit, close enough that Crowley can still feel his breath, and circles the entrance of Crowley’s cunt with his fingertip, mussing the mix of wet there, even sloppier now that he’s added his own saliva, and Crowley shudders, arching his back. Aziraphale spreads Crowley’s cheeks wide, licking gentle stripes with a flat tongue until Crowley’s almost there again, and then he works the sweet curl of his tongue inside Crowley’s cunt, nudging his asshole with his nose, all the while massaging Crowley’s clit between his fingers. It’s terribly vulnerable and absolutely filthy, and spectacularly, earth-shatteringly </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley rolls his hips with abandon until he’s coming again, a bright, new sort of orgasm that makes his toes curl and his cunt gush into Aziraphale’s waiting mouth, and only when Crowley at last lifts his palm in supplication does the angel pull away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley flops back onto the pillows, boneless, and watches with a sort of overwhelming love and disbelief as Aziraphale licks his fingers clean before coming to curl up in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I found my new favorite meal,” Aziraphale says cheerfully, and Crowley groans, burying his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t stand this,” he says, meaning it in the best way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to have to,” Aziraphale grins, and Crowley kisses him hard on the mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you. I love you, I love you, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiles into his mouth, and Crowley snuggles even closer into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing we already live together, eh?” Crowley cracks, because everything seems wildly out of control, and even though it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the best way, that is how Crowley copes. “Skipped that step.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we went </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of order, dear,” Aziraphale says, smoothing his hair back, “but it got us here, so I’m afraid I don’t regret it a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll say,” Crowley agrees, trying to nuzzle into Aziraphale’s hand without seeming like he’s nuzzling</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You won, you know. ‘m not gonna pretend like you didn’t. We don’t have to keep the statue.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughs, a full, real one, and it’s the same laugh he’s always had when he’s with Crowley. It’s really him, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Crowley feels like he’s overflowing with love and hope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all, there’s very little you could want that I’ll refuse to give you anymore. I can promise you that, my dear. And, most importantly, that statue is what got us here, Crowley. I’m not giving it up for anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley grins, dizzy with adoration, and slides his thigh between Aziraphale’s thick ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe another time you’d let me triumph over you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale smiles, his eyes sparkling. “I’d like that very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do end up keeping the statue. They end up bringing most of their respective belongings to the cottage, but they also end up filling it with new things: herbs and vegetables they can grow together, and use to try out new recipes, old folios of forgotten sonatas for both to try on instruments they’ve long since failed to master, scatterings of strange art and ancient books and any and all souvenirs from the many ceaseless adventures that sprawl out ahead of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The love gets to unfurl at last. It’s not automatic, the shift towards something open and honest, after both had kept it secret for so long. But it feels so right, their hearts and bodies twining in each other, they find it comes quite naturally after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On more than one occasion, one catches sight of the other—on their way out to lunch, perhaps. Or a late morning, before the sun climbs too high, on Crowley’s way to tend to the garden or Aziraphale’s way to the bookshelves. Or in the early evening lounging on the sofa, with Crowley half-asleep draped in Aziraphale’s lap, Aziraphale reading a book propped up on Crowley’s thigh. And they’ll glance at each other, then to the statue, then back at each other, and share one of their many, secret, loving smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not the last time they wrestle. And it always ends the same way: in a tangle, in a mess of love, and mutual victory. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading! i hope you liked it &lt;3</p><p>check out my other fics here and talk to me about ineffable kisses on tumblr @ <a href="https://letmetemptyou.tumblr.com/">letmetemptyou</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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